


I Need The Buzz Of A Sub

by ThreeBirds



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: All the siblings are mentioned at least once!!!, Comfort, Except for ben (im sorry), Good Sibling Vanya Hargreeves, He doesn't get a hug but he gets his hands held and that's something, Hurt/Comfort, I can't believe that's not a tag???, I hate that i have to mention that specifically, No Incest, Number Five | The Boy Gets Sleep, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Number Five | The Boy Whump, Number Five | The Boy has PTSD, Number Five | The Boy-centric, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Right?, The rest are kinda there ig, Veins are mentioned, Whump, and also blood and death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-27
Updated: 2020-09-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThreeBirds/pseuds/ThreeBirds
Summary: Death is such a recognisable expression. He doesn't have to see someone to know how they'd look after their eyes lose sight. He's had so much practice, more than anyone should have.~•~•~•~•~Inspired by a post about five being calmed by his siblings' hearbeat during a panic attack. This, uh. It's that. That's basically what this is.
Relationships: Number Five | The Boy & Vanya Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy) & Everyone
Comments: 18
Kudos: 272





	I Need The Buzz Of A Sub

**Author's Note:**

> this is the tumblr post:
> 
> https://princesskittenoftardis.tumblr.com/post/630341758187864064/i-ve-heard-people-having-headcanons-about-five
> 
> I saw this post, blacked out and next thing i know i've written an entire Thing???? Idk what happened, don't ask me. I have not a beta, nor have I actually read it over myself to make sure all the "i"s are capitalised. Oh well.
> 
> (Title taken from "Blood In The Cut" by K.Flay)

A grey face, a hanging mouth, cold eyes.

"Five?"

Death is such a recognisable expression. He doesn't have to see someone to be able to imagine their cold lifeless bodies. He's had so much practice, more than anyone should have.

"Five, please look up, you're scaring me"

His eyes are shut tight, wrists pressed down, but he can still see so clearly, beyond the swirling colours of pain, pictures of decay. An arm at a cash register, a leg by a shopping cart, a face— what was once a face— in between fallen bricks. A choked cry escapes his throat, in an attempt to block away the standing silence. For a moment, as if a bubble was popped, snippets of sound rise around him, fighting away the quiet.

"Can I touch—"

"—If he doesn't respond—"

"—Five?"

"Shut up!" Says one of the voices, and the cacophony is muted. Maybe it was never there. He's imagined voices before.

he'd rather have delusions of sound over silence, he realises. Anything, really. It stands in the air, stifling the air out of his lungs like a thick blanket, and suddenly it's unbareable. He lets air out like a white arrow, scratching through his vocal cords, as loud as he can.

He screams until he's out of breath, and the silence is right back, stronger than before. _Anything else_. "Please," he croaks, to whoever may be there, be it ghosts or his own mind "don't go."

There's a moment of silence. For that moment, it seems like it's over. He's alone again. In a void of nothing but dust and fire, and gone memories. He feels weightless, powerless, and another scream bubbles up his throat when the silence finally shatters.

"Five. I'm here" says a careful tone. "Can you open your eyes?"

There are sounds, now. Shuffling and tapping and gentle breaths. _Life_ sounds. He lets his wrists drop from his face, blinking away the darkness as his blood returns to his eyes. There are too many things in his line of vision, but he can make out a face. Vanya. Her gaze is soft and concerned.

_He knows how it would look if she felt nothing at all. He could strike at her right now and confirm it._

Her face hasn't moved, and the silence is coming back. She could be gone. She is gone. His heart sinks in his chest. She was never here in the first place, he knows. This may have once been alive, but it's now an inanimate object. He's standing over it now, though he can't feel his legs. Soon he will leave. He has given up checking for a pulse years ago. There is never a pulse in the apocalypse.

The last words ring in his ears, again and again, drilling into his mind. He doesn't realise he's saying them out loud until—

"Take my hand, Five"

He thought he's imagining the voice, but its echo lingers. He didn't realise he shut his eyes again, but a hand is outstretched in front of him. He doesn't dare to try and grab it. If his hand passes through, it'll be worse than not knowing.

But the voice sounded sure, and really, what has he got to lose?

He reaches for the hand, and to his suprise, catches it. It rests in his palm limply. Just like hundreds before, it doesn't move.

"Check for a pulse" the words may have been his imagination, but the urge is still strong. Almost automatically, five flips it and brings his right hand near the wrist, under the Ulna, like he'd been taught years ago, coded into his instincts. He rests his fingers there for a moment, and sure enough, light as a bug, a soft pitter patter pressed back at him. His left hand clutched the palm tighter, closer, while keeping his fingers attached.

The Thumps are gentle, but their importance magnifies their volume. He looks up at Vanya, and vaguely registered her soft smile. More importantly, he knows there's flowing blood behind her skin. Or does he?

His hand fell while he wasn't paying attention. He clings back to the wrist, desperately searching for the pulse. It's still there, but this time he doesn't look away. He counts the time between thumps, breathing along.

For a while, all he can hear are his own breaths and the pulses. All he can see are the veins under his fingers, and all he can feel is the timed pressure at his tips. But with every breath, he feels his mind clear. Every pulse that comes assures him that so will the next. Every breath feels less strained. Until he can register the couch under him, a paused movie on the tv screen, Diego's breath to his right, a cup of water near his face (with a luther on its end). and— with more intensity every second—his cramping shoulders.

He slowly loosens his grip on Vanya's hand, watching her walk to the couch beside him, so he can still gently hold onto her. He blinks around at his siblings, who in turn blink back at him. They all seem careful, like they're dealing with a chrystal gerbil.

"How are you feeling?" Vanya asks, eventually.

"Like utter shit" He admits. "But better than… That." he gestures backwards vaguely.

"Can't be that bad, if he's cursing again," Klaus says with cheer. It's hard to tell when he's faking it, but Five is thankful for the effort to lighten the mood.

"You've seen nothing," he says hoarsely, because he really does feel like shit. his skin is crawling and his throat is still sore and he feels like he just lifted weights with every single orfice of his body.

The glass of water is gently nudged at his cheek, and he sips it politely. The image his mind brings up this time isn't of Luther's lifeless stare, but of his proud expression—the one he wears whenever he's even slightly validated by anyone— with bright eyes and a poorly concealed smile. Five struggles to suppress his own grin, but no one notices— or cares to comment. Instead, Allison only says, "you look like you've just aged ten years. Do you need some sleep?"

He only nods thankfully. Hands are sent all over him, pushing to support and tugging his into a stand, seemingly aware of the current liquified state of his knees. He's gently led into his room, raised to his bed and even tucked by someone very Allison-shaped, despite his weak protests. For a moment it seems like they'll be leaving the room— leaving _him_ , but then the entire bed squeaks at three points of pressure, and he hears a few chairs being dragged around. 

He curls sideways under the blanket and reaches out wordlessly. It takes a few seconds, but eventually someone hands him their arm. he pulls it beside him, with his fingers pressed to the vein. He drifts into a steady sleep, to the sound of a steady heart.


End file.
